“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

“Hello,” I said when he came to the phone, and his voice was dull and flat, full of self pity; he was sure I wouldn’t see him. And instead of rousing sympathy in me his downcast mood had the opposite effect; I don’t care if you came from Timbuktu by refugee ship, I thought. His call reminded me finally of his letter and my response that I wouldn’t be able to see him during his trip. I said some usual polite things in a usual polite voice and that was that. The next day I learned from Peg that he’d come by bus, had to stay the night, didn’t have much money—his reality, I reminded myself firmly, not mine. Still, vaguely uneasy I called off a half-planned evening of company with friends—luckily before I’d actually invited them, and we had a Seth session instead, still another in an effort to get me out of my own physical problems. This one was at Rob’s suggestion.

Most of the material disappeared instantly, like some dreams, but I did remember that Seth told me to stress pleasure over responsibility and that thought was in my mind as I fell to sleep Friday PM.

Enjoyment instead of responsibility: I determined to try that out Saturday, and I did enjoy myself writing a new poem; the theme—pleasure! I also typed up a few pages of material (on the Sinful Self.) Still, no Frank Longwell.